How Many Sides to a Story?
by lostinafictionalworld
Summary: James stops by to discuss business with Thomas and ends up debating mythology instead. Set during the London flashbacks.


James was cursing softly to himself as his coach pulled up in front of the Hamiltons' residence. He had intended to walk to his meeting with Lord Hamilton and save himself the expense of hiring a coach but his morning meeting with Admiral Hennessey had run far longer than he had anticipated. By the time he had extricated himself, as politely as possible, he had a scant few minutes to spare and no other choice than to find the nearest available coach and practically beg the driver to go as quickly as possible.

He had been working as Lord Hamilton's liaison for less than two weeks and he was keenly aware of how important this appointment was to his future prospects. Hennessey had reminded him of that not half an hour ago. He didn't want to ruin that with such small, careless mistakes such as lateness. But the thing that truly kept him anxiously wringing his hands and trying to formulate a decent apology was that he already, after a mere week and a half, couldn't bring himself to disappoint Thomas.

He was out of the coach before it had even come to a complete stop and hurried up the front steps as quickly as he could while still looking somewhat dignified. The doorman promptly answered his knock and had just finished taking his coat when another servant appeared.

"Lord Hamilton is expecting you," he said crisply before leading James through the house to Thomas's study.

James's well-rehearsed apology died on his lips as he caught sight of Thomas through the open door of the study. He was pacing absently around the room as he flipped through the pages of a leather-bound volume, murmuring softly to himself in what James was reasonably sure was Greek as his eyes skimmed quickly over the lines. More distractingly, he was dressed only in his shirtsleeves, his coat and waistcoat abandoned, cravat undone, and head free of any wig. James froze in the doorway for a long moment, struck by the realization that he was seeing Thomas's natural hair for the first time. The short, dirty blond strands looked feathery soft and very rumpled, as if Thomas had been running his fingers though his hair while thinking. James had the sudden thought that he never wanted to see it hidden beneath that hideous wig again.

"Lieutenant McGraw to see you, my lord," the servant announced. James blinked and pulled himself up a little straighter, struggling to draw his attention away from Thomas's hair as his eyes snapped up from the book in surprise.

"Lieutenant," Thomas greeted warmly before suddenly remembering his state of mild undress. "Please pardon my appearance. I was not expecting you so soon." He set the open book on the desk and retrieved his waistcoat from the back of the chair.

"Perhaps I should take offense, my lord, that you have such low expectations for my punctuality as I am nearly a quarter of an hour late" James said drily, still distracted enough that the retort slipped out before he could think better of it. There was a long moment of silence as a distant clock began to chime the quarter hour, emphasizing the remark. "Unless I've misremembered the time of our appointment, that is," he hurried to add more politely.

Thomas paused in the act of buttoning up his waistcoat to give that duck of his head and half-stifled smile that James had already come to expect in response to his dry or sarcastic remarks. James found himself smiling back.

"My apologies, Lieutenant. I meant nothing of the kind. In fact your delay is perhaps fortuitous, as it appears I was even more distracted than I realized." He finished doing up his waistcoat and began casting about for his wig.

"I can call again at a more convenient time if you are otherwise engaged," James offered politely, though secretly hoping Thomas wouldn't agree.

"Nonsense," Thomas said, dismissing the idea with a wave of his hand. "I was merely looking for a passage I had been discussing with Miranda. It's nothing that won't keep until you and I have concluded our business."

"What were you discussing?" James asked, then flushed as his sense of propriety caught up with his curiosity. "I apologize, my lord. It is not my place to pry."

"Not at all," Thomas insisted, his face brightening. "In fact I'd welcome your opinion. Some acquaintances of ours had us over to view their art collection and one of their new pieces was of the sacrifice of Iphigenia. Are you familiar with Iphigenia, Lieutenant?"

"Agamemnon's daughter," he replied after a moment of thought. "Before the Greeks set sail for Troy, they offended the goddess Artemis and she refused to let them sail. To appease her and gain back their favorable winds, Agamemnon sacrificed his own daughter. And when he returned from war, his wife and her lover killed him for it."

"Precisely!" Thomas said excitedly, abandoning the search for his wig and taking up his book once more. "You know your Aeschylus."

"I favor the version found in Euripides," Miranda said brightly, sweeping through the doorway in a swirl of saffron colored silks.

"You left this in the carriage," she said, producing Thomas's powdered white wig with a flourish and an amused twinkle in her eyes.

"Ah, thank you, my dear," Thomas said with a rueful grin. "I did wonder where I'd left the blasted thing."

"Well, our dear lieutenant has already seen you without it," she pointed out in a stage whisper, "so perhaps you needn't put it back on. Although…" She tossed the wig unceremoniously into a nearby armchair and stood up on her toes to smooth his tousled hair back into place. "There. Better." She then turned her attention to retying his cravat.

"I don't believe I'm familiar with Euripides," James pressed on awkwardly, entirely unsure how to react to the scene of domestic affection unfolding in front of him.

"Iphigenia knowingly agrees to the sacrifice and goes to her death with dignity," Miranda replied, finishing her task and turning to face James with her arm looped comfortably through Thomas's. "At the last moment, Artemis intervenes and replaces Iphigenia with a deer before spiriting her away to serve as her priestess."

"Intriguing," James replied. "It sounds like something I should like to read."

"Please borrow our copy," Miranda offered immediately, striding to the bookcase and selecting a slim volume. Her hand brushed lightly over James's as she pressed the book into it, causing him to blush slightly. "I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, as would Thomas, I'm sure." Thomas instantly nodded in agreement.

"I— Thank you, my lady," James forced out, thrown by the casual kindness of the act. He ran his hand gently over the embossed cover. He seemed to constantly find himself surprised by the Hamiltons, these kind people who from the very beginning had treated him as if he were an old friend rather than a business acquaintance.

"And what is your preferred telling, my lord?" James asked when he finally regained control of his words.

"I find myself constantly intrigued that a single story can have so many variations," Thomas replied eagerly. "It's curious to see how time and retelling and the views of each storyteller can alter the interpretation of a character. There comes a point where there is no single truth remaining, only a range of lenses through which to view it.

"That being said, I too prefer to think that Artemis would not be so callous as to demand the life of an innocent girl as restitution for the sins of others. But there's a particular variation…" he trailed off, flicking through the pages once more and mouthing along with the words. He carelessly dragged his fingers through his hair, throwing the silky strands into disarray once more. Miranda gazed at him fondly before turning to give James an amused roll of her eyes.

"Aha!" Thomas exclaimed triumphantly after several long moments. "' _Ἰφιγένειαν οὐκ ἀποθανεῖν, γνώμῃ δὲ Ἀρτέμιδος 'Εκάτην εῖναι·_ ' Iphigenia did not die, but by the will of Artemis is Hecate." He snapped the book shut with a flourish to punctuate the quote.

"As in the goddess of darkness and witchcraft?" James asked curiously.

"Exactly the one! Not only does Iphigenia survive, she becomes a goddess in her own right, made powerful as a result of a situation that rendered her powerless. I appreciate the reversal."

"It is a remarkable transformation," James agreed thoughtfully.

"And what think you of Agamemnon, Lieutenant?" Miranda asked. "A man who would willingly sacrifice his daughter for the sake of politics? Or Menelaus, who would wage a war, ten years of suffering and death, in the name of his stolen wife?"

"I hate to think that a father could treat his child with so little regard," he replied after a long moment of consideration. Thomas's expression shifted into something that James couldn't quite place, but he didn't interrupt so James continued. "Such an action would demand consequences and I cannot fault Clytemnestra for her revenge. But it seems a terrible thing to be forced to choose one precious thing over another. One loved one for another, a war for a wife. I honestly don't know what I would do if I found myself faced with such a decision. I'd like to think I could make the right decision, but I feel I could never know until I was in the moment. I suppose I must simply hope never to find myself in such a situation."

Thomas and Miranda were eyeing him thoughtfully, mulling over what he had said, and James suddenly found himself very self-conscious to be debating literature and morality so candidly with a lord and lady. He looked down at the book in his hands and cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I've already taken up enough of your time with discussion," he said apologetically to deflect their attention. "Perhaps we should attend to our business?"

"Of course," Thomas agreed. "Though I've greatly enjoyed our conversation. I would eagerly welcome your input at my salons if ever you're interested."

"Thank you, my lord," he replied, pleased at the comment if a bit intimidated by the invitation.

"And perhaps you'll join us next time we're invited to view art," Miranda suggested. "We would appreciate your company."

"Thank you, ma'am." James flushed slightly. "I would enjoy that."

"Then it's agreed." With that, Miranda kissed Thomas on the cheek and took her leave. James and Thomas settled down to their work, James feeling more at home with these people than he could remember feeling with anyone in a long, long while.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi! I've been in the Black Sails fandom for a few months now but this is my first attempt at a fic. The characters of course are merely borrowed from the brilliant geniuses that created Black Sails so I apologize if they're a bit out of character. This was supposed to just be a cute drabble about James seeing Thomas without his wig for the first time, but I accidentally fell down the rabbit hole of classical references and sad parallels and couldn't find my way out. The version of the myth James tells is from Aeschylus' 'Agamemnon' and Miranda's version is from Euripides' 'Iphigenia at Aulis'. The line that Thomas quotes is a quote from Hesiod found in 1.43.1 of Pausanias' 'Description of Greece,'. And that's just a few of the several versions of the myth. Thanks for reading!


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